


Happy Homes Smell Like Cinnamon

by maychorian



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen, Humor, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-22
Updated: 2006-09-22
Packaged: 2019-02-02 16:10:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12729873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maychorian/pseuds/maychorian
Summary: Daniel’s house needs a blessing.





	Happy Homes Smell Like Cinnamon

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the archivists: this story was originally archived at [The Alpha Gate](https://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Alpha_Gate), a Stargate SG-1 archive, which began migration to the AO3 in 2017 when its hosting software, eFiction, was no longer receiving support. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are this creator and it hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Alpha Gate collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/thealphagate).

  
Author's notes: I wanted to write something fluffy, and I was baking, and this happened. I was sad we never saw a housewarming on the show, especially with all the giddy delight of having Daniel back.  


* * *

Happy Homes Smell Like Cinnamon

“Let’s make cookies.”

Jack looked up from where he lay sprawled all over Daniel’s still-sheet-covered couch, claiming it as his before Daniel had a chance to touch it in this new place. _Like cats,_ Sam thought suddenly, shifting slightly on her perch on top of a pile of boxes Daniel had told them to leave alone. _Men are like cats—peeing and shedding on everything to mark their territory, especially when they don’t belong there._

“Are you insane, Carter? We’ve been helping Daniel move all day. That’s enough domesticity to last me for a year. Two years.”

Daniel entered the living area from the hallway, blinking, bearing an open cardboard box inscribed with the word “Books” in thick black marker, as ninety percent of the cardboard boxes in this house were. “Wow, Jack, didn’t expect that from you.”

“That I wouldn’t feel like making cookies?” Jack gave Daniel a look which clearly placed him in the “just as insane as Carter” category.

“No, that you would use the word ‘domesticity’ in a coherent sentence. I’m impressed.”

“Well, don’t get used to it. That’s enough erudition to last me for a year. Two years.”

“Wow . . .”

“Ah!” Jack raised a finger in admonishment. “Don’t expect any more. I’m fresh out of multisyllabic words.”

Daniel wisely chose not to remark on this newest hypocrisy, instead blinking at Sam. “Um, what brought this on?”

Teal’c, sitting cross-legged on the floor by the hearth, also made with the face, raising his eyebrow at her. “I also do not understand your sudden interest in pastry-making, Major Carter.”

She blushed and shrugged helplessly, her shoulders lifting nearly to her ears. “I dunno. I was just unpacking Daniel’s kitchen, and I was putting away the flour and baking powder and sugar, and I . . . wanted a cookie.”

Jack gave Daniel a suspicious stare. “You never have beer when I’m over, but you keep _baking supplies?”_

Daniel gave him a slow, goofy grin, so entirely unlike his usual small, hesitant smiles that the other three could only stare in wonder. After a moment, it became clear that their favorite archaeologist was not going to answer the question. Some things, apparently, were not meant to be shared.

Teal’c tilted his head in thought. “Are there not customs here for the blessing of a new home?”

Jack grinned, a new gleam in his eyes. “You’re talking about a housewarming party. Yeah! That would be _great.”_

“No, no, no,” Daniel choked out in dismay. “You are not getting stains on my new carpet before I even get a chance to enjoy its pristine condition. No party.” The easy comfort he felt in his new home was obviously eroding like a clay riverbank in a flashflood.

Teal’c shook his head. “I was not referring to a party, but a blessing on the home. I believe I remember something from a movie you showed me last holiday season, O’Neill. Would that not be appropriate now?”

Jack rubbed his forehead. “You’re talking about _It’s a Wonderful Life,_ aren’t you? I knew I shouldn’t have let you watch it, but it was on TV, and I was decorating, and . . .”

“Oh, shut up, Jack.” Daniel got rid of his box so he could shove playfully at Jack’s shoulder. “We all know you’re a sappy mushpot for those kind of movies. I bet you and Teal’c watched it more than once.”

“We watched it four times, Daniel Jackson,” Teal’c confirmed imperturbably. “It is a most excellent film. James Stewart is a remarkable actor.”

Jack sighed. “Remind me to introduce you to _Harvey_ sometime.”

Before Teal’c could question this odd name, Daniel jumped back into the subject. “Anyway, we can’t do that little ceremony. I don’t have any bread or wine—I tried to clean out my cupboards a bit before the move.”

“But you have salt!” Sam sat up straighter. “I saw it! And you have eggs and milk and spices. Cookies!”

“Oatmeal?” Jack asked curiously. He couldn’t help it. He was getting interested. “Raisins? Cinnamon and nutmeg?”

“Chocolate chips?” Daniel asked with a hint of despair. He could see where this was going. And he obviously already knew that there were no chocolate chips. He’d probably eaten them all in a last-minute fit of pre-move anxiety.

Sam nodded happily at the colonel’s questions, and gave Daniel a sympathetic look at his. “Please?” she asked with uncharacteristic girlishness, looking at her boys. “I really want cookies.”

“Oatmeal Raisin,” Jack decided firmly, leaping to his feet with an agility that belied his earlier “exhaustion” from the day-long event. “Mama O’Neill always said that happy homes smell like cinnamon. And we should definitely do everything we can to make sure that good Dr. Jackson has the happiest home in Colorado Springs.”

Sam jumped to her feet and followed him happily into the kitchen. Daniel trailed after them a bit feebly, protesting uselessly. “But I don’t think I have a recipe, and I don’t even know if that oven is even safe, and anyway, aren’t you tired from carrying all those boxes? You said your knee hurt . . .”

He jumped when Jack slammed open the cupboard doors, looking for the oatmeal container. He turned it to the back and held it wordlessly out to his archaeologist, and Daniel raised his eyebrows. “World-Famous Oatmeal Cookies,” he read slowly from the recipe printed on the back. “Oh.”

“Allow me, Daniel Jackson.”

Daniel jumped again as Teal’c appeared at his shoulder and reached over to take control of the oatmeal container. This evidently merited the raising of both Jaffa eyebrows as Teal'c read the ingredients aloud and Jack bustled through the cupboards with all the care of a friendly tornado, making sure everything was there. Sam fetched the eggs and milk.

"Yep, all present and accounted for." Jack rubbed his hands together gleefully when the platoon of ingredients was presented on the counter for his satisfied inspection. "Oatmeal Raisin. My favorite."

"I wanted chocolate chip . . ." Daniel said sadly.

"But you don't have any chocolate chips," Jack said with great patience and reasonableness. "So you can't have Chocolate Chip Cookies. Them's the breaks."

Daniel sighed and stepped back slightly, resigned to having his brand-new kitchen commandeered by his team. The next half-hour was a whirlwind of activity as each member of SG-1 took on a task and fulfilled it to the utmost of their ability.

Teal'c kept charge of the recipe, reading off each ingredient and instruction in his firm, no nonsense voice. He would not bear any deviation. Sam measured each ingredient with a chemist's precision, following Teal'c directions to the letter. Daniel hovered anxiously in the background, cleaning up any spills the moment they appeared and generally trying to get in everyone's way without actually getting in anyone's way. And Jack took on the difficult job of making sure that all the ingredients were of the highest quality.

"Jack! Stop eating the raisins!"

"What? You have a whole box here. We only need, like, one cup."

"Two, O'Neill."

"Jack, look at the box. What's the weight?"

"Ummm . . . 16 ounces."

"And how many cups is that?"

",,,"

"It's two cups, sir."

"See? See?"

"Oh, okay! I'll quit eating your precious raisins!"

It was even worse later, when the dough was fit for human consumption.

"Sir! We're not going to have any left for cookies!"

Finally, after an hour and a half, SG-1 sat again in Daniel's half-finished living room, happily munching their cookies. The house was filled with the warm smell of baking, and two plates sat on the counter, piled with a dozen cookies each, ready to be taken in to the mountain for Janet and General Hammond.

"These cookies are most excellent. I'm pleased with your suggestion, Major Carter."

"And with your persistence to make sure it happened." Daniel nodded cheerfully. He had recovered from the trauma of having his kitchen invaded by the military, and was now enjoying the results of their well-applied foraging and survival skills. "I never thought you'd win him over, but he folded like a wet cardboard box."

"Hey! Don't expect this to become a trend. That was enough capitulation to last me for a year. Two years."

Sam merely sighed in bliss, savoring her cookie. It had been a good day, she reflected, even with all the stress and blundering. Daniel had bought a house. Maybe that meant that he was planning on sticking around this time.

And Mama O'Neill was right. Happy homes did smell like cinnamon.

(End)


End file.
